The trees mention themselves in the wind, with the crickets, warm, small sounds and veins of leaves full, and the ground cooling. The living room is dark, and the house has no lemons. When a quiet time passes and trouble starts again, you say now things are happening, things are really moving now. So dry and such sand, such suspicion in your heart, but with your mouth you say, now we are getting somewhere. Inside, it is dark, and outside the koi pond has yet to be dug, but maybe the trouble that's coming will dig it in another yard.